Memory Lane
by Rumrum
Summary: Lothiriel remembers Rohan. References some of the Elfwine Chronicles by Deandra. Rated K.


DISCLAIMER: I've written this purely for my own and my readers' entertainment. I make no money whatsoever and I don't own anything (apart from the plot and my student debts, and you're more than welcome to take the latter if you so wish).

**A/N: This one-shot merely references Deandra's 'Elfwine Chronicles' (a highly enjoyable collection mostly comprising of one-shots detailing the many varied aspects of Eomer and Lothiriel's ever-increasing family), but it is not connected to them in any other way. Neither is it connected with any of my other LOTR fics. I was merely inspired to write this after reading the 'Chronicles' and I wholeheartedly thank Deandra for her kindness in allowing me to use her material.**

A/N2: I also thank Deandra for being my Beta for this particular story.

**MEMORY LANE**

Lothiriel sat back in her chair, sighing softly, she was tired and the afternoon sun was warm on her face. Maybe she would take a nap. She closed her eyes.

But then, quite suddenly, she opened them again and sat bolt upright. No; no, she would not lounge around inside when it was so lovely outside. Lothiriel had always been an active person. One of the few things she had ever hated about bearing five children was the tax on her strength during the last months of pregnancy and the first weeks of her newborn's life. Not to mention the slight loss of her trim figure over the years, even though Éomer had insisted that he loved her just as much in that post-natal state, if not more.

Maybe she would go out to her garden, which had always been a favourite place of both her and her family. Lothiriel smiled as she thought about all that had happened there: giving her children motherly advice, giving their prospective _partners_ motherly advice!

The Queen then grinned still more at the thought of the antics of her children, especially her sons: Her youngest son, Théodred, getting into all sorts of scrapes with his nephew, Arawine, and then trying – never entirely successfully – to cover up the results; her middle son, Théomund, working so hard with his hands, his little tongue poking out as he desperately tried to make what was in his head a reality.

Lothiriel got up slowly, for she was not as young as she used to be, and looked about her room. She no longer slept in the King's Chamber, not since Éomer had gone to the halls of his forefathers. Initially, Elfwine and Dariel had insisted that Lothiriel continue to use the room for her own sleeping quarters and for a while she had acquiesced, for the sheer pain of losing Éomer was more than she could handle just then, when she needed every little bit of comfort possible. Eventually, though, Éomer's scent had faded from the sheets and the thought of sleeping somewhere else was not quite so terrifying. So Lothiriel moved into one of the bed-chambers that was not so far removed from her eldest son's family, but far enough that it would afford some respite from their more exuberant antics.

As the Queen gathered up her cloak, she decided that maybe she wouldn't visit her garden today, after all she and Dariel had tended it only the other day. Well, Dariel had seen to some of the beds, while Lothiriel had watched her from her favourite bench. The Queen then nodded decisively; all these memories had made her want to take a walk out in the sunshine. Her favourite walk – through the town and out to the Barrowfields, to where her husband's tomb was.

Lothiriel started down the corridor that would take her to the main hall and, as she walked, her mind returned to Éomer. Not a day went by that she didn't think of him and the life that they had made together in Rohan. Lothiriel smiled as her mind returned to one of her first and fondest memories of Rohan: that bitterly chilly night, when Éomer had solved the problem of her cold feet by wrapping them in a pair of his thick boot-socks, and then, and then...

Lothiriel sighed again; so much of her life with Éomer had been made up of these little interludes, especially once she had seen it as one of her royal duties to ensure that the burden of kingship never fully engulfed her husband. In fact they all had contributed to that end; Elfwine had certainly learnt to do so _very _quickly – oh, that now infamous council session! Of course, Éomer had always tried to take time out for his family, even to the extent of paying the price of slight embarrassment. Not that that had ever lowered him in the estimation of his men, if anything it raised him even higher than he already was.

Lothiriel had made it to the hall. Fortunately, it was not very busy today, and Elfwine was locked away in his study with his advisors. She was grateful for that, not really wanting to be accosted by her son, even if it meant 'saving' him from said advisors.

Wandering slowly to the front doors, Lothiriel thought about all that had happened in the here: Éomer taking Elfwine and his friend, Freawine, 'hunting' and 'camping'; her eldest daughter, Théodwyn, getting her little hands on an Oliphaunt; Théomund finally managing to coax his little sister, Morwen, out on to the dance-floor; all the various feasts and weddings that had been held there for both the Royal Family and their very closest friends.

Here, Lothiriel's mind alighted on Éothain – that great oaf! The relationship between the Queen and the Captain of the King's Guard had been somewhat rocky at times, for he could be so very aggravating, but Lothiriel had thought of him as a member of her family nevertheless, especially after he married her maidservant, Zimraphel.

Of course, not all of Lothiriel's memories were happy ones. It was in the Hall that the pains indicating the loss of her second child had begun. In the King's Study, where she had only recently passed by, was where she had received the news of Elfwine's devastating accident. The families from the Cottage Fires had sought refuge at Meduseld. And Éothain hadn't long outlasted his King – it had been less than six months after Éomer had died that he had been found collapsed in the stable-yard. But then Éothain had never really been the same after his beloved wife had passed away. Not that Lothiriel wanted to quash these memories, mind you; after all, it was in remembering the sad times that made everyone grateful for what they had in the present.

One of the maids was just setting out for the market in town, so Lothiriel hurried along in order to slip out of the front doors with her. Once out on the terrace, Lothiriel took in a big breath of fresh Spring air before starting down the steps. When at the bottom, she stopped, considering – should she go to the left and to the stables, to where once she had been 'kidnapped' or should she just go forwards into town?

She took the latter option and strode regally off, nodding to the odd person here and there. She mused some more as she walked, especially as her memory was jolted by the sight of particular buildings or spaces.

There was Théomund's forge, incorporating Fele's jewellery business. Lothiriel snickered, although she was of the nobility herself, it still amazed her at how utterly predictable and, to be blunt, easy to manipulate many of her class could be, especially if she or one of her family was involved. Not that they had ever done anything bad, but it was always so amusing at how quickly the wealthy of Edoras would purchase something similar to what a member of the Royal Family just had. Rather like a herd of sheep.

Over there was the outlet from the stream, where Théomund, Théodred, _and_ Arawine had caused so much hassle, and here was where the Rohirrim held their annual harvest celebrations and where the relationship between Éothain and Zimraphel had really sparkled into life. Lothiriel had always been pleased that they had found each other, and it had been about time that that oaf had found someone to not only share his life with, but also take care of him properly!

So caught up in her thoughts was she that Lothiriel almost started when she found herself at the gates of the town. Confidently, she walked through. Elfwine would not be pleased with her, as none of the Royal Family should really stray out of Edoras without an escort, Lothiriel in particular. It was understandable why, but her eldest son especially had been very protective of her after his father passed away. Lothiriel appreciated Elfwine's efforts, but there were times when she just needed to be alone; besides, she took this walk often and was never gone long. The guards were always on the alert when they saw the Dowager Queen take this route and would know what to do should something not go the way it was supposed to.

Although she was wandering slowly, Lothiriel eventually made it to the Barrowfields and to the mound which belonged to Éomer Éadig. Pausing before the door, Lothiriel lovingly traced the carved stone work.

"Here I am, beloved." Lothiriel sat down in the cool shade and closed her eyes.

XXX

Elfwine found his mother not long after he and his advisors had dispersed following the adjournment of their meeting. She was sitting where she had been before, in her chair by the window, the sun warm on her face. She looked like she was only sleeping, but her hand was cool. Too cool for there to be any doubt. Lothiriel of Rohan had finally joined her husband in their eternal meeting place.

"I've kept her safe, Father," Elfwine whispered, his eyes beginning to fill, "Just as I promised."

Before he went to inform the rest of the household, Elfwine bent down and kissed his mother's forehead. As he straightened, he noticed that Lothiriel had the smallest of smiles on her face, a smile that spoke of great contentment.

And Lothiriel had indeed been content, content to walk through all her memories of Rohan.

One last time.

**THE END**


End file.
